


Mocking the wind

by Kuro_Ko



Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [5]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Burning to the end, Claude and Lys are buddies, Fodlan Summer Olympics, Fódlan Olympics, Rowing, Rowing pair, Sports, betaed we don't die like odessa, sports AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuro_Ko/pseuds/Kuro_Ko
Summary: Claude and Lysithea have been rowing together for five years. Finally they have reached the final event, the ultimate challenge. Together they will see once and for all whether they are champions, or challengers.
Relationships: Lysithea von Ordelia & Claude von Riegan, Lysithea von Ordelia/Leonie Pinelli
Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881421
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	Mocking the wind

Claude pats his thighs, then hits them softly with his fists, trying to loosen them up. He can see the muscles popping up hard as stone and brittle as steel. It looks like they could snap at any moment.

His hands fumble with a half full water bottle.

He smiles and just breathes. The moment is near.

Almost here.

Almost.

He could sense it in the air.

“Ok you two, drink one last bottle and let’s get you out of here.” Manuela circles them, Claude’s been with her long enough to tell she is nervous despite her firm voice and her precise instructions. “Don’t burn yourselves out, after that tough second heat you’ll need all the energy you can get for the last push. The Adrestrian team is strong this year and they tend to follow the same strategy as you. Watch out for the Faerghus shell, those two have topped every competition they’ve been in lately.”

Lysithea is pacing around, drinking from her water bottle absently as her strides get quicker and quicker. The white tents set up for the rowing teams are busy as the athletes come and go, reviewing their equipment and listening to the last minute pep talks.

They have about twenty minutes before they are really, truly alone.

“Hey team captain!” Hilda pops through the flap, a huge smile on her lips. She’s holding Marianne’s hand as they enter the tent together. They are followed by Ignatz who sports the same supportive grin as the couple.

“Hey!” Claude straightens up, opening his arms to greet the newcomers. He hugs each of them tightly but briefly, his back stiff from the heats they had to row through to get there. “Happy to see you! Is this your way of saying that you love us? Cause we already knew that.” He winks, making Marianne smile shyly while Ignatz and Hilda shook their heads.

“You’re incorrigible…” Hilda looks behind him, looking for the other member of the team and their friend. Lysithea is still pacing around, not registering what’s going on around her. Manuela is looking at the young rower with her arms crossed, worried.

She was getting in to her own head, that was the worst possible scenario for Lysithea.

“Lysithea, ready to stand up on that podium looking pretty?” Hilda says as she lets go of Marianne’s hand, sharing a knowing look with her, and makes her way to intercept the youngest of the Golden Deer. Claude realizes what Hilda’s doing and nods at her, allowing Marianne to pull him and Ignatz with her, trying to give her girlfriend and Lysithea some time alone.

Manuela follows them, talking about reviewing their equipment for the last time.

Lysithea watches them go, biting her lip in a nervous tick before Hilda looks at her, an unspoken question in her eyes, an invitation to open up and let her fears go.

“You’ve seen me after a race, I doubt that’s what you would call pretty… I still don’t know how you manage it after soaring four meters in the air.”

“Mind you, I jumped _five_ to win this medal.” Hilda sobers up and sets her hands on the shorter woman’s shoulders, grounding her. “Hey, look at me. You’re gonna do great. You know that, right?” She feels Lysithea’s muscles in her shoulders trembling and smarting under her fingers.

Lysithea is boiling, her body ready to explode in a burst of energy and strength.

She needs to reel her racing thoughts in or she’ll lose her confidence before the event has even started. Her head was her biggest enemy as it never stopped whispering dark omens of what could happen. Of how she could fail.

Yet the younger woman rolls her eyes and musters a smile.

“You just wanna brag about that silver medal, don’t you?”

“Perhaps, but I also wanna make sure you’re ok. You got this, and you’re the only one that can keep good old Claude in line.” Hilda stops, thinking for a moment. “Well, you and coach Manuela, that’s it.”

“He knows I’ll mess his Lady Gaga playlists up if he lets himself get distracted.” Lysithea laughs, crossing her arms and shaking her head. Hilda smiles with her, letting her go.

“We’ll be waiting for you at the other end. Raphael, Lorenz, and Leonie are already there.” She pats her shoulders and grabs her hands to loosen her arms up. “Come on, loosen up a bit and you’ll be unstoppable!”

“Thanks, Hilda…”

“Anything for you, Lys, now let’s go fetch my girlfriend. I’m a medal winner and I get to have her around for the whole week at least. I deserve to see her gorgeous face every waking moment.”

“Ugh, enough already, I’ll make sure to be the farthest away from you when we cheer her on.” Lysithea pushes her away weakly, following Hilda with a smile outside the tent. They are rewarded with the view of Manuela holding her face in her hands as Ignatz is doing squats and Claude counts for him, clapping with every one of them. Ignatz jumps every time he goes up, his face is red and he’ll start sweating soon. Claude doesn’t lose his smile as he keeps his improvised coaching job and Marianne watches, hiding a smile with her hand.

Under the summer heat, which is wet and unforgiving, Lysithea feels how her blood pumps and boils.

Even minutes away from the most important race yet of their lives, her partner is still the same as ever.

“Claude! Not again, can you please focus on the race?”

“Hey, Lys! Just showing Ignatz some of our training methods. You know I’m always ready.”

“That’s not a method we’ve ever used. Ignatz, don’t enable him, please.” Ignatz smiles nervously at her, straightening up and using his hands to apologize.

Around them, the other teams look at them unimpressed by their display. The Leicester team has built a reputation as an eccentric duo.

“Oh, I see that you’re having fun!” Hilda rushes to Marianne’s side, her girlfriend smiles fondly at her, intertwining their hands together.

“I’m just letting these two blow off some steam. Ignatz, you’ll be driving the tandem bike to get me to the finish line, roger that?” Manuela smiles when she sees her pupil getting pale as he nods. “Good, now, the lot of you, get moving, I want to have a word with these two.”

The trio bids them goodbye, each of them engulfing both Claude and Lysithea in a hug before leaving. Marianne stops a second longer while hugging Lysithea to whisper her good luck and squeeze her.

Manuela waits for them to be out of their range before turning to them with a reassuring smile and her hands in her hips. “I don’t want you focusing on anything else but your rhythm and your breathing, is that clear? You’re both great athletes, you’ve made it this far and you should never doubt yourselves. Don’t look at the teams around you, don’t let anyone get in your head, not even you, and have fun.”

She stops, looking them directly into their eyes.

“I’m proud of you both, kids. Now pick up this shell and make yourselves proud!” She pats them both on their shoulders and gives them a final wink, before leaving to fetch Ignatz to make him take her to the finish line.

Claude and Lysithea look at their friends and coach leave, breathing in deep, knowing that the moment is closer than ever. Claude feels his thighs steeling again, threatening to cramp up even before starting the competition.

“Come on, let’s do this.” Lysithea grabs her end of the shell, he rushes to the other end and gets the equipment back to their tent. The assistants hurry around them, delivering goods and telling all athletes to get ready, as they are due to their places in less than ten minutes. Claude rubs his face, he’s looked around and he’s happy in a selfish way to see that no team from Almyra made it to the final.

His father would be in the stands, waiting for him at the final line. He had let his son know that he’d be yelling at the top of his lungs for “Khalid” proudly in his Almyran accent. Claude jumps in place, trying to get the excess of energy out of his muscles. Nervous waves that come and go crash through him like tides he’s helpless to control, completely swamped and dragged around by them, battered and wounded by their whims.

“That green and yellow wouldn't suit me…” He thinks, remembering his first competitions as a young athlete in the long and narrow rivers in Almyra. He’s grown so much since then thanks to spending years in Leicester, competing on his own first, then with Lysithea.

He looks at her, she’s tying her hair up in a tight bun. Her hands are trembling and her elbows move erratically.

She’s nervous.

Lysithea has been a perfect match ever since the day that they first clicked. It was a long-gone winter’s day when they had figured each other out and ever since they'd been unstoppable. Despite appearances and her strict, rigid demeanor, she is open-minded and understanding. She’s never questioned his decision to compete for Leicester instead of Almyra. She’s never asked uncomfortable questions when he leaves to visit his father and family in the other country, where he feels sometimes out of place despite being in the city that had seen him grow up.

“Just bring me sweets” She’ll say every time. It has helped him more he can ever say. So he doesn’t, instead he pours his soul and heart every time they are out there, pushing themselves to a limit only ruthless years of training allows them to tolerate.

“Here, let me help you.” Claude takes the elastic from Lysithea’s unsure fingers and ties her hair in her signature high bun. She smiles at him, one of the few things she’ll let him help her with without protesting. “You ready?” Claude steps back, patting her arms while eyeing her. They were already in their yellow and charcoal uniforms. His braid is secured in place, he had trimmed his hair the day before and now the summer breeze flows through it, refreshing him.

Every little advantage they can take they’ll take.

Lysithea is covered in sunscreen and she is fumbling with her sunglasses.

“Five minutes and we need you to be in position.” An attendant says, popping through their tent before disappearing in a blink of an eye.

They watch some of the athletes pass by in front of their tent, all of them following their rituals before the race.

The Olympic final race.

“I guess we’re about to find out.” Lysithea rolls her shoulders and grabs their racing shell. “My parents said they’ll be watching the race at home…”

Claude grabs the other end and they start walking. He won’t be able to see her face from now until the end of the race, he fills his voice with all the warmth and cheerfulness he can muster. “Well, my old man will be at the finish line screaming in Almyran and pointing at us, I’m pretty sure he’ll make enough noise for both of our families.”

“Somehow, I can picture that, just like you after we finish a race. Try not capsizing our hull this time, would you?”

“No promises.” They get to the water and see the lake extending before them, the buoys that mark each lane and the cyclist at the sides waiting for the race to start to accompany them from the sides.

Some of the other teams are already in the water, some are pacing on the docks, their hulls waiting for them. Lysithea and Claude stop, sharing a single mind when they’re in a competition, when they’re in their element. They breathe in deep, the last minute of serenity they’ll have as challengers. They were about to find out if they were medal-worthy or just runners-up.

“Hey, Lys. Whatever happens, trust me, ok? I have a plan, I swear. We’ll do great. I’m counting on you to get us there…” They set the hull in the water and get in the boat, grabbing the oars and pushing themselves to their starting position easily.

“I know.” Lysithea shifts as she arranges her grip in the shafts and secures her feet in the hull, testing the rails under them. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Claude splashes them with some water, Lysithea doesn't react at all. She's been his partner long enough that she's used to his shenanigans.

“I’ll see you on the other side and, hey, I’ll get us ice-cream after this!”

“Ha, I’m counting on it.”

* * *

“You’re rather small for someone who’s fifteen, don’t you think?” Claude’s first words to Lysithea are a joke, and she’ll remember them as the way their relationship was started and shaped.

His posture relaxed, his hands behind his head, his confident smile.

She smacked him in his stomach, half-joking, half as a statement.

Claude laughed as he grabbed his stomach and bent over, his shoulders shook while he gasped for air.

“She’s Lysithea, you’ll be training together so do me a favor and act as the athlete you’re supposed to be…” Manuela looks at both of them, arms crossed, unimpressed.

“Coach Manuela, I would never.” Claude managed to say, still grabbing his stomach and blinking away a solitary tear born from the pain and the laughter.

“A pleasure to meet you. Don’t ever call me small again… or a kid.”

Claude smiled at her, straightening up and sobering enough as to shake her extended hand. They rowed barely a hundred meters that day. Their pulls out of rhythm, a machine that was out of synch.

Six years have passed since then.

It seems longer than it really is, though.

Like a lifetime ago now, sitting in that hull, her hands shaking and her heart throbbing in her ears. She grabs her shafts in an effort to find her inner strength. Her fingers are strong around the cold metal, the muscles in her forearms continue to twitch and shiver with a mind of their own.

She bites the tip of her tongue.

They’re waiting for the signal, the green light, and the assistant to let go of their hull to cut the water for about six minutes in complete madness. They have done it so many times together that it should be routine, it should be as easy as asking Claude to buy her ice-cream if they manage to row in synch for the whole two kilometers.

Why can’t it be? Because this is the Olympic finals and they are fighting for a medal.

The last six years will be reduced to those five or six minutes that it will take for them to cross the lake and write their names in the pages of history as champions or just challengers.

The hull rocks slightly as Claude shifts behind her.

The sun is harsh over them, the water they have poured and thrown at each other already evaporating and leaving their skin dry and hot. Sweat pouring out to replace the lake’s water. She swallows, her eyes fixed in the red light, everything else blurs out of focus as her mind concentrates, hyper-focused in that simple thing.

They would be winners or they would be forever challengers.

_Don’t go there, don’t go there. Claude is with you, worst case scenario you will both be losers and he’ll still buy you ice-cream…_

The siren, loud and clear, pushes everything else away from her mind, springing her muscles into action before she can even register it. She pulls, hard and strong, and the rowing final begins.

Lane four is open and free for them to cross, Lysithea feels the weight of the water underneath them, resisting their advance, a blue hand struggling to hold them back. She feels the strength in her muscles and the pace Claude establishes by the unwavering pull of his rowing.

Only he isn’t setting a pace, he is giving her the control, allowing her to set up the pace she feels comfortable.

_So that’s how it is…_ Lysithea eyes their competitors out of the corner of her eyes. The Adrestian hull at their right, a representative of Garreg Mach at their left. She clenches her teeth, her muscles fire and her blood boiling.

_They are in our way!_

Claude has left the decision of pace to her, and she decides on a hard, relentless one. An inferno to unleash upon their bodies and their hull cutting through the water as the soaring wind muffled the throbbing of their hearts in their eardrums.

Driving and recovering at the exact same time, Lysithea pushes and pulls harder with her left side, compensating for Claude’s old injury.

She can’t see him from her position, but she knows he is smiling. Just like the first time they were able to compete as a team five years ago after so many days training and getting to know each other.

So many nights raiding kitchens and running away from their coach with their pockets filled with sweets and candy.

They pass by the five hundred meters mark in a flash, the Garreg Mach hull falling behind, the Adrestian one persistent next to them, just a couple of meters apart.

She remembers it, the day of their first competition, they had rehearsed so many times, going over their strategy and their roles, how they’d keep their strength to the final meters, how he’d pull harder when the moment arrived and she’d have to compensate for his left side, weaker than his right.

Then the competition was there and there were no more thoughts or strategies, they were rowing with no mind and no direction. Just instinct and the endless hours practicing together.

To her surprise, after the race was over, it had worked, landing them a third place.

Claude had gotten a tattoo to celebrate it, she had rolled her eyes and told him to celebrate when they actually won something important.

The Adrestian hull isn’t giving up.

Neither are they.

She barely registers the cyclists that struggle to keep up with them, the wind blowing in her ears and the blades of her oars cutting the water clean and swift.

Her light purple hair is secured and tight in her bun, her shoulders burning from the effort and the sun over them.

She had dyed her hair after that win, something less extreme than getting a tattoo. Five years later she kept it that way, she'd ended up taking a liking to it.

The red and black of the Adrestian team is several meters behind them now.

Good.

Some runners have joined the cyclists that follow them as they cheer them to keep the pace. The runners will not last long, they’re too fast for them.

The thousand meters mark is now behind them, and she can see almost every team fighting to catch up with them. The signature blue of the Faerghus team is nowhere to be seen. They must be leading the competition.

_Don’t think about that, don’t stop, keep pushing, keep the same rhythm._ She chastises herself, keeping her mind only in their game.

Her feet start to go numb as she steers the hull to correct their direction with her left toe.

They have had better years in their time together. In the second year after they started as a team, they obliterated every competition they were in. Hilda used to joke they were the true Golden Deer because they’d return home with a gold medal every single time, driving Leonie and Lorenz crazy in the process.

But it had just been the start, and Lysithea remembers the bad moments. She remembers the bitter aftertaste when they had lost by a single second and returned to Derdriu empty-handed. She remembers the long winter nights training in the gym when it was too cold to row outside. She remembers the limping in Claude’s leg after late training sessions in the dead of winter, he used to shrug it off with a smile.

The pain in that smile.

The pain in his disappointed, tired face after they tried so hard to be rewarded with nothing at all. So many months of ceaseless training and not a single thing to show for it.

She hears people cheering for them, she sees the Adrestians now a bit closer. Lysithea can see the sweat pouring from their shoulders and back as they catch up with them once more, she sees the veins of their hands bulging, the blades of their oars cutting the water in a perfectly synchronized dance. The little droplets that remain in the sides of their racing shell.

The third-year had been the worst, they had never been in sync, never at the right timing. They had jeopardized their chances as a team to even make it to the Olympics’ classifications. Always fourth, fifth, always losing to the other teams that were just in the right mindset.

Claude had found her on a spring’s night after training, gorging herself on sweets and holding her tears.

She’d wanted to give up so badly at that moment. So much on her shoulders she couldn’t take care of, her parents, her siblings, her family’s future thrown into her lap. An eighteen-year-old girl that had been forced to mature so quickly and rashly that she barely knew herself enough as to cope with everything that happened around her.

Every time something went wrong hitting her and injuring her in the worst possible way.

He had smiled, like he usually did, and told her not to worry, that even if they didn’t make it to the Olympics her family’s future would be secured. That he’d see to it. Somehow, he’d see to it.

He had just patted her back as he said those things, letting her just be free for a night, just a kid that had been given a bad start in life.

They never really talked about it afterward, but their dynamic had changed once more, like their first year after he had told her his own problems with his family and his Almyran heritage.

The Adrestian team is almost next to them now. Lysithea has kept a strong pace and they have adjusted to it. She doesn’t stop, doesn’t change their pace. Every fiber in her body starts to scream in pain and burns as the race lengthens and continues.

She tries to never watch their timing, she keeps her focus entirely on her strokes, in her drive and recovery.

Her body works on its own as her mind just flashes through the memories that keep her consciousness away from the pain. Never failing to correct their direction, to adjust for Claude’s injury, to clock her timing perfectly, breathing with every recovery.

She can’t see herself, but Claude sees her muscles turning crimson, pumped full of blood and sweat, budging with power, and sharply defined.

The red and black have gotten her attention again, bugging her, threatening to overpower them.

She clenches her jaw tight and pushes herself even further. Her lungs barely keep up with her muscles. Her demand for oxygen is so high that an untrained person would’ve fainted at this point.

There are stands now, filled with spectators cheering, the noise gets through the pain and the fatigue, firing her up once more.

They were so close. So very close.

The thousand and five hundred meters mark passes by them, she barely sees it with the Adrestian hull pressing harder.

And then she feels it.

Claude is changing their pace.

He’s emptying their tank in the last quarter of the race.

She smiles, moonstruck.

_So be it, you’re stronger than you let on and you trust me to keep us going at a regular pace for most of the race. How fast do you want us to burn out this time?_

This has been their dynamic. Lysithea is always able to keep a steady pace, keeping them from sapping their energy too soon. Claude has no such self-control, he knows no restraints, no limits. If allowed, he’ll give his all in a mad dash and burn too quickly to finish the last section strong.

That’s why they are a team, after all.

Lysithea relinquishes the control, just adjusting the shell’s direction this time and following the strokes of her partner.

She’ll follow him to the very limit of her strength in those five hundred meters. She’s willing to put her life on the line for that final push.

Five hundred meters, give or take.

Her body won’t crumble till they cross that last line.

The Adrestians were about to meet their match.

* * *

He keeps pushing, his lungs are burning, every breath a release of agony. His jaw clenches even harder, his muscles threatening to give up with every push, every pull.

His eyes focused on Lysithea in front of him, her strong shoulders, her unwavering strength.

He will never give up.

Can’t give up.

He pulls harder, his muscles shaking and burning.

Inside him, like a bowstring stretched to its limit, something breaks. A snapping sound, ripping his muscles apart in a fire that consumes everything but pain and rage.

Claude winces and never stops moving, the tearing sound inside him growing louder with each scull, he knows he has just torn a muscle and it hurts, and it tears a millimeter more with each movement.

He doesn’t stop.

The water splashes his forearms, his thighs are at the edge of convulsing and his feet are numb.

It doesn’t matter.

Lysithea is still pulling, she is still there in the race. She hasn’t given up.

Claude smiles, of course she hasn’t given up and he would never give up on her. 

The hull soars through the lake, people are cheering and their cries are muffled by the constant splash of water and the bow of their hull breaking through the surface, cutting waves and tides alike. Unwavering.

The torn muscle in his shoulder rips a bit more.

_Just five hundred meters._ Claude thinks, passing by the mark in a blink of an eye. At his right, the Adrestian team doesn’t slow down. He can imagine their faces twisted in an effort, their muscles bulging and pushing.

His smile grows even wider.

As if there were a force in the universe that could stop Claude from beating them.

He clenches his jaw even tighter, to the point where his teeth could crack under the pressure and he changes the pace. Lysithea adjusts immediately as he picks up the pace further.

“Lysithea, just a little longer” Claude huffes, loud enough for her to hear over the water and the cheering and her own mind racing and fighting, over her whole body crying in pain.

“You better- buy me that- ice-cream.” She mutters, somehow still able to muster the strength to joke.

“All the ice-cream you want” He means to say, but only groans in pain. The red and black hull next to them threatening to overpower them at any moment.

He injects even more energy into his drive. His strokes grow faster. Every bit of energy burning to the end. Pushing every single muscle to the line.

His old injury is acting up, he’s always surprised how his left side can be numb and in flames at the same time. It seems like a contradiction created just to screw with him. Lysithea keeps their hull in position, compensating for him and giving her all in those final meters.

The longest of every single race.

His right shoulder is a world of its own, a dimension created to agonize him a bit further. A reminder of what must be given to be accepted in the pantheon of athletes that are worth a medal. The recognition of the whole world, the few selected among many.

He’ll be out of races for a couple of months after this and Lysithea will yell at him for pushing himself past his breaking point. She’ll be worried when she sees his right arm completely useless, when she sees what their love for exertion and winning has done to him.

He closes his eyes, fully aware that they are close to the seventeen hundred and fifty meters mark, the last one. Lysithea will keep their shell on the right path, he needs that moment to find himself and give it all, he's wheezing, his face is covered in sweat and his eyes sting from the salt in it. He hears the cheering, he feels the sheer pressure of thousands of spectators looking at them, rooting for them, he knows that they aren’t the only ones looking at them. He knows his mother is watching her tv, watching the race from their family house back in Almyra.

He knows that thousands, millions maybe, are watching from every corner of the world. Some having their breakfast, some just eyeing the screen distracted, some holding their breath as they cross the lake faster than any wind could have carried them. A moving testament of power and determination condensed in every single action. Every motion that mocked the wind they don't need.

Claude opens his eyes, timing it with a huge breath that fuels his whole body as he recovers and twists his blades for the next drive.

He will show them. He’ll show them all how great they are.

The true extent of their glory.

He pushes even harder, Lysithea is barely keeping pace now, her back marked by streams of sweat, her muscles painted by the crimson of her blood.

His right side tears, a blinding burst of pain and strain that leaves his mind completely blank for a second.

They pass by the last mark and the Adrestian hull is still next to them, linked to their path in a mindless effort that has both teams synchronized.

_Enough is enough!_

He releases absolutely everything he has, there’s no holding back, no sense of self-preservation, no second thoughts about his physical condition after that race.

He pushes everything aside, pure willpower to overcome the living hell that his body has turned into. It's a dumb and directionless void of pain that he knows will take him nowhere if he were to give in to it.

The audience around the lake, crowded in the finish line, is losing it. Both countries are neck and neck, neither of the bows of their racing shells gaining the upper hand, centimeters ahead or behind with each stroke.

Somehow, in the middle of the noise from the crowd, of the blowing wind, the blinding pain, the tearing of his muscles apart millimeter by millimeter, he hears the Golden Deer cheering for them.

Rooting for them.

He can even make out the “Make’em work!” from Hilda. Or at least he thinks he does.

And it’s enough to power the last strokes.

Those final ten meters.

“Lys!” He intends to scream but just rows harder, his partner answering in the same manner.

The banners of all the countries are up, high in the sky, waving as the wind dances around them, making each color shine and stand out in an impossibly blue sky.

Almyra, Leicester, Adrestia, Faerghus, Brigid, Dagda, Garreg Mach, Sreng, Albinea, Morfis.

They cross the finish line, neck and neck with the Adrestians, not knowing which of the bows goes first as the siren sounds for both of them almost at the same time.

Claude bends over, letting go of his oars, all the pain that he had pushed away catching up with him, the immediate reward for his efforts and hard work. He screams, gasping for air, every breath bringing a muscle back to his mind in a joyful pain he’ll remember forever.

It’s been the most difficult race of their lives.

The most rewarding one.

He sucks air in, straightening up as he does, and filling his lungs to the top to yell at the sky as his clenched left fist bumps the air over his head. The crowd roars along with him, covering them in claps and cheers.

Lysithea is still wheezing, her hands still in her oars, but he hears her laugh in between breaths, her body trembling and shaking now from the joy of finishing the Olympics’ rowing final.

Finishing in the podium, whatever place they landed.

Finishing as champions for the whole world to see.

“Wh-what place was it?” Lysithea asks, recovering enough to muster a hoarse, strained voice that barely resembles hers.

“I have no idea.” His right shoulder and side are throbbing, each movement makes it worse, so he remains as still as possible. His left leg is stiff, but he’ll manage. “Lys, I kinda need your help, I busted my right shoulder and side in the race.”

The hull rocks hard and, for a second, he believes they’ll capsize and then he’ll be in real trouble. Lysithea has turned, looking at him right in the eye, her sunglasses gone.

“What do you mean, busted?”

“I’m pretty sure I tore a muscle... or two.” He smiles as he says it, completely unaffected by it.

“You idiot…” She sighs, still smiling. They are the Olympics’ medalists; they can take a torn muscle or two. “Guess I’ll have to carry you back to the shore.”

“If you would be so kind, oh great Lysithea, I shall provide you with an endless banquet of sweets for you to gorge yourself on.”

“Shut up already.” She starts rowing, her strokes weak now, enough to push them smoothly on the water toward the shore where their coach awaits for them on their designated dock. She groans with every movement, her muscles completely worn out.

“You know, it doesn’t really matter the place we finished in, we did get a medal…” He gingerly moves his left hand to bring his wounded arm to rest in his lap. It hurts, but his body is recovering from the excruciating pain that the race was and just his injuries keep bothering him. “And I’m giving my part of the prize to your family…”

“You don’t have to do that.” She cuts him off immediately, stopping the hull to look at him again. Her smile is still there, but in her eyes a serious flare has sparked.

“I know, I kinda want to. It’s the best way I know to thank your parents for allowing you to compete with me. We’re a demonic beast team together, you know that!” His voice trailing off, Lysithea eyes him intensely for a second, before going back to rowing them toward the shore. “I just did it for my mom… for Leicester, for all the kids out there that have no idea what to do of their heritage. To show everybody that it doesn’t really matter where you’re from as long as you’re willing to give it all.”

“I know, and we did, partner…” She looks up, to the giant screen that will display the final time for all the teams at any moment. Now everybody has crossed the finish line and the crowd deafening voice is starting to decrease.

“Besides, wasn’t it fun? We almost killed ourselves, but wasn’t it fun? Five years for this.” He shifts in his seat; he turns his head to see Manuela and the rest of the Golden Deer waving at them, some are jumping and pushing each other fired up after watching such a race. Raphael is shouting with both his hands in the air, pointing at the screen.

So the results are in.

“I wouldn’t change a single thing.” Lysithea says, her eyes fixed in the stern of the hull.

Claude agrees.

Not a single moment of those five years.

* * *

Claude smiles, bending over so Lady Rhea can hang the medal from his neck and let it rest in his chest. The silver is light in his body, a bright contrast to the charcoal and gold of his uniform.

“Congratulations.” The imposing woman shakes his left hand, his right hanging limply by his side.

“Thank you, sorry we had to beat your guys to get here, though.” He winks at her playfully, she just smiles and shakes her head. Her hand is strong and firm. He knows better than to push the legendary Lady Rhea further.

Lady Rhea takes the second silver medal and a bouquet in her hands and turns to Lysithea, proudly standing next to Claude in the second’s place on the podium.

They had done it.

His smile grows even wider when he sees how Lady Rhea doesn’t need Lysithea to bend over to hang the medal in her chest. His partner doesn’t complain, her smile is as big as his and his chest swells with pride and love. He loves her, she’s part of his family, always will be.

You don’t win an Olympics medal together and don’t bond for eternity over that.

Lysithea receives the beautiful bouquet from Lady Rhea as well, mumbling a thank you, her eyes focused on the flowers and her hand going to the medal in her chest.

It’s a dream they’ll never need to wake up from. Once and for all they are champions. They’ll always be remembered as such, their names will be written in to history.

Claude hugs Lysithea by her shoulder, holding her close and tight as the crowd cheers and Lady Rhea smiles and nods at them once last time before turning to the Faerghus team that has won the gold. The photographers waste no time taking pictures of them, Lysithea with her hands full with the bouquet and her medal, Claude hugging her, his medal bright in his chest. He’s sure to smile at the camera and mouth his mother’s name.

She’ll get the message, he’s sure. She must be still screaming and jumping and cursing in their house, celebrating for her son on the Olympic podium. He knows his father still is, he can see him, his fists in the air and hugging random people around him. He yells in Almyran, celebrating his son’s achievement.

“I understand Hilda now… I just wanna brag about this medal and wear it all day…” Lysithea’s voice is small, hoarse after pushing her lungs so hard, but he hears it and squeezes her shoulder.

“Don’t tell her that, you won’t hear the end of it.”

She smiles, she can’t find in her a witty answer.

She’s too happy for that.

Lady Rhea has finished giving the gold medals, they square up to hear the anthem of Faerghus through the speakers, silence before the winners are awarded the song they recognize as theirs. Claude doesn’t let go of Lysithea, in a way he’s leaning on her, his body still exhausted, barely able to keep straight up, a real struggle to make that smile seem relaxed.

It has been the race of their lives.

Claude can barely wait for the next Olympics games.

“Come on, now! Can we take a picture of the three groups together?” The journalists request, motioning them to get all on the first’s place step. The Leicester team doesn’t need to be coaxed into it. Lysithea takes the first step, adjusting so Claude can use her as a crutch to get that little step. He thanks her silently, his body threatening to give up at any second.

They need a shower and a day’s worth of sleep.

All teams smile for the cameras, showing off their medals and flags. Claude has taken the Leicester flag he has tied around his waist and gets it across his shoulder, Lysithea takes the other end, fumbling with the bouquet and her medal. They manage, as they always do, and the pictures for the history books get in order.

“Congratulations on that last push.” One of the Adrestian rowers extends his hand, Lysithea shakes it with a smile.

“It was really tough, you’re incredibly talented and I can tell you worked hard to get here.”

“Ha, you say that now that you got second place…” He smiles, grabbing his partner by her elbow. “Next time we’ll get the gold!”

“Oh, we shall see.” Claude winks at them, the six athletes laughing and just enjoying to the fullest the moment.

Medal winners.

It sounds so good.

So right.

As Lysithea said, Claude doesn’t want to take the medal away from his chest ever again.

They step down the podium, bidding a final goodbye to the other competitors, promising to see each other in the next races and wishing them the best of luck.

The blue and clear sky uses the breeze to kiss them, closing an amazing day, an amazing season, an amazing year.

An amazing partnership.

“You think you can walk alone?” Lysithea lets go of her medal to hold him by his back.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Wait till the adrenaline wears off.”

“Thank you, Lysithea. You always know how to cheer me up.” He looks around, searching for their spot in one of the tents prepared for the competitors. Lysithea starts walking, dragging him toward the noise of the Golden Deer reunited around their tent. He sobers up, letting go of her and trying to walk normally despite his right side and shoulder completely numb and non-responding.

When they spot them, Hilda, Raphael, and Leonie rush to them, almost tackling and running them over to draw them into a group hug.

“You did it, you guuuuys!” Leonie has managed to get Claude and Lysithea in her arms, knocking the air out of them.

“You made them work, I knew you’d do it!”

“That was amazing! Nobody knew who crossed the line first! Oh, it was amazing you two!” Raphael, big and powerful, has his arms around all of them, a gentle hug for a man of such strength. Claude smiles and grits his teeth, his injuries sending electric waves through his body, his left leg somewhat still stiff. He does his best to hug them, Lysithea is surprisingly docile, receiving their praises silently, her face in Leonie’s shoulder.

“Of course we did! I had Lysithea by my side, you know!” He smiles, his pain is almost gone when he sees their faces all beaming. “Now it’s your turn, let’s show the world what the Golden Deer are made of!” Raphael lets go of them, breaking their hug apart, giving them space as the rest of their friends gather around them and Manuela’s approving, proud face looking at all of them.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, kids, always makes me remember how much fun we can have with no drinks around.” Manuela makes her way through the young athletes, taking the bouquet from Lysithea’s hand to free her from that little burden. “I know you all will do great. Good work, I’m proud of you.”

“As much as I love you, I’m dying to get a shower and some food.” Claude’s doing an excellent work disguising his injury, but he's close to his limit. Marianne looks at him and then opens her arms, and he’s again consumed by the love for his friends, hugging them one by one, accepting their congratulations, joking about their upcoming events, and encouraging them.

Lysithea lets herself get engulfed by their support and love too, hugging them tight, her medal comfortable in her chest.

“You did good, Claude, Lysithea.” Lorenz patted both their shoulders; his face marked by pride. Claude’s willing to let him go without a joke at that moment.

Later he’ll get back at him one way or another.

“Now, Claude, would you be so kind as to go to the infirmary? I’m not being your crutch any longer.” Lysithea eyes him, her tone enough to know he’s being chastised.

“Ha, it’s just a bit of pain, I’ll be…” And Lysithea smacks him on his right side, a weak strike, and he bends in pain. His breathing shoots to the sky as he pats trying to control the pain. “Lysitheaaa….” He wines, half-joking, half-serious.

“You hurt? That won’t do!” Raphael picks him up immediately, his arms carrying him easily.

“Wait, Raph, wait!” Claude tries to break free, but Hilda pokes him gently, a friendly warning to keep still.

“You’re hurt, if this was a track and field event you’d have been carried out in a wheel-chair, just let us help you.” She says, tilting her head and raising her eyebrows. Claude sighs, knowing too well that look and nodding at Raphael.

“Off we go!” He starts walking, towards the infirmary, Claude helpless in his arms as he covers his face with his left hand and the rest of the Golden Deer follow them, joking about the all-mighty Claude von Riegan, carried around by his friends.

Manuela looks at her students, her kids that at such a young age are achieving so much and giving so much of themselves to the world. She smiles and shakes her head. She turns to Lysithea who hasn’t gone behind all of her teammates.

“How bad is it?” She asks, aware that Lysithea is the best one to ask other than Claude. They’ve been together long enough that she can tell how serious his wounds are just by looking at them.

“He’ll be out of races for a few weeks, for sure. I had to row us back to shore.”

“He must have torn it well before the end of the race. We’ll hear it from the doctors for sure, but sounds like he made it worse…” She eyes her seriously, examining her body trembling, her muscles starting to relax and her skin going back to her usual pale color. “You’re long overdue for a rest, we can afford that… good work, Lysithea.” A smile makes the sentence beautiful.

Makes it real.

Lysithea smiles, beaming.

“Thank you, coach.”

“Don’t you want me to get you to the infirmary, too?”

“No, I just want to sit down for a bit…”

“I’ll be back soon; I need to hear from the doctor how bad Claude’s injury is.” She crosses the distance and hugs her, before squeezing her shoulders and leaving toward the infirmary.

Lysithea looks at it all and smiles. They have won second place in the Olympics. She takes her medal and feels it warm and secure in her hand.

Five years.

Five long years.

They had done it.

Her family’s future is secured. Her siblings never needing to go through what she had to.

She was a champion.

“Lys, you ok?” She looks up, Leonie is there, hands in her hips with a curious look in her face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m surprised, didn’t you go with all the others?”

“Nah, Raphael’s got Claude, he’ll make sure nothing happens to him. Do you need any help?” Leonie turns to face her, crossing the distance in two quick strides. Lysithea smiles at her, the medal still in her hand.

“I’m ok, just… care to join me in the tent? I do need some rest.”

“Sure thing, want me to give you a piggyback ride? I can carry you bride style if you prefer.” She jokes, winking at her, her tan skin a beautiful, rich color under the sun in Garreg Mach. Lysithea blushes, not finding in her a good answer other than shaking her head.

Her chest is so free, her shoulders so light.

A huge responsibility, a burden, finally been lifted from her. She now can look into the future and hope for it, plan for it, decide for herself first.

There’s a lot of catching up to do, but she can start by taking small steps.

“Let’s go, I’ll get you something nice and we’ll get you rested up, that was an insane race and I wanna hear all the details” Leonie pats her shoulder as they start their way to the tent, the racing shell already there, the rest of the team gone to the infirmary.

Lysithea realizes she prefers it this way.

Just her and Leonie.

And her medal.

They had done it.

They had done it in six minutes and fifty-one seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing Claude and Lysithea is SUCH a blast and a delight... I should do it more often!
> 
> I can't thank enough Quali and Ashe for inviting me into this project. This has been by far one of the most rewarding things I've ever written. It's so different from what I usually write and such a fresh approach. I had an absolute blast.
> 
> This chapter would've never been what it is without the EXCELLENT and WONDERFUL help of @Rising_Chaos, she's been instrumental betaing this chapter, helping me with every little detail and struggle. Some of the additions are her ideas and she deserves equal praise on this.
> 
> I need to thank as well all the writers in the server for the Olympics, it's been an honor talking to all of you and sharing ideas and nonsense in equal parts. I love the community that we have formed.
> 
> That's enough of me gushing... I think. I'd love to hear what you think about this now! Comments and kudos are appreciated! (There's a prequel for this one, as I needed to write and picture how Claude and Lys got to be rowing buddies for me to write this race).


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